There had been opposition to the visit. It was, pointed out his ministers, an unpopular move. The people of England could not understand why their King should want to leave his country for the sake of some little German state. It was noticed that he was more affable, that he did not snub his wife so humiliatingly in public, that he was tolerant to his children and now and then even affable to the Prince of Wales. No one could doubt that the King was looking forward to going to Hanover.

Walpole’s feelings were mixed. It was easier to deal with business when the King was away; on the other hand the popularity of the Royal House was important and so cleverly had the Queen worked on the King that George was almost as devoted to his first minister as Caroline was.

Still George was determined to go.

When he was dressed after his afternoon sleep he came into the Queen’s apartments to take her for their walk and he was smiling pleasantly.

This time next week he would be on his way.

‘You are ready, my dear?’

Of course she was ready. She knew better than to keep him waiting.

He led her out to the gardens and he walked by her side to the Upper Paddock to look at the deer. Caroline was very proud of the gardens of Kensington because when her father-in-law had died she had taken an immense interest in them and had even had a hand in the planning. Often she thought that if there were not so many state duties, if she felt as well as she once did, she would be happy to devote a great deal of time to gardening.

She had had the parterres removed and it had been a great pleasure to plan the gardens. The Broad Walk was becoming one of her favourite sauntering grounds; and she was glad that she had had the Round Pond set in the middle of the lawns.

‘The gardens are beginning to look so beautiful now,’ she said.

The King replied. ‘We have nothing here to compare with the statues and linden avenues at Herrenhausen.’

She did not agree, but of course one did not question any statement of the King’s.

‘I hope all will be well there.’

‘You are concerned for me, my dear. All will be well, I tell you. You must not be sad because I leave you.’

‘You would not expect me to be happy?’

He smiled complacently. ‘Oh, no, no. But you shall be Regent while I am gone. That is good for you and I feel everything is safe in your hands. I said to Walpole, I leave everything safe in your hands and those of the Queen.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said the Queen.

‘Ah, it is good for you. You like to be the Regent. Confess it. You like it, my dear, and for me, I am a man you know ... and I must be a bachelor now and then. It is the way of the world. But rest assured, my dear, that no mistress will ever be to me as you are.’

She looked at the winding stream which they called the Serpentine and sighed.

‘No,’ he went on, ‘there are some very attractive women at the Court and I have honoured them ... but always I say: They are not the Queen. For me there is only one woman although I may have—as is natural to a man, my dear—many mistresses. So for me the bachelor existence and for you the Regency, eh?’

She smiled at him wanly. Her legs were beginning to ache. If only she could reduce the swelling.

‘I shall write to you,’ he said.

Oh, yes, he would write long letters telling her intimate details of his love affairs. She could well do without such letters.

And I shall expect you to write to me,’ he went on.

‘You may be sure that you will be informed of all that happens.’

‘I trust my Regent. So ... for you the Regency ... for me the bachelor’s life.’


* * *

When he was gone she found her health improving. When there was no longer the need to hide all signs of fatigue, that fatigue lessened considerably. She walked at a slower pace, stopping to examine the flowers or comment on the growth of the trees she had planted and which she hoped posterity would be grateful for. There was no need now to keep up with the King.

She now had time to learn more about the nation.

She told Walpole that Kings and Queens were often sheltered from the truth. When her carriage was driven through the city she had seen beggars and stallholders and had wondered how they lived.

Walpole smiled benignly. ‘Everyone knows what a good heart Your Majesty has.’

She knew of course that he wanted her to remember that their task was to rule the state; they were surrounded by enemies and they could not take their minds from the matter in hand.

‘Yet it seems to me the way the people live is our concern,’ said the Queen.

Walpole nodded gravely, waited a few seconds, and then began to explain that a need would soon arrive to take action about the land tax which needed revision. He was working out a scheme and as soon as it was ready he would put it to the Queen who could then acquaint the King of whatever decision they should come to.

The Queen nodded; but her thoughts were with the poor people whom she had seen on her drive.


* * *

She was in her apartments reading the documents which had been laid before her, and suddenly she paused. She held in her hand a death warrant.

She stared at it and wondered whose life she would be signing away. She put down her pen and went to the window. Away in the Upper Paddock she caught sight of the deer; it all seemed so beautiful, but she could not get out of her mind the picture of a cell in Newgate Jail where a man whose name was on that death warrant was waiting for her to sign away his life.

What had he done? she wondered. And why? That was the question. Why?

She thought of the child she had seen barefooted, wrapped in a tattered shawl through which the flesh showed blue and mottled. Those people stole. Why? Because they were hungry. They killed, because they had never been taught, because life was so hard that they had to fight and perhaps kill to live.

She decided that she would not sign the death warrant until she knew more of that man.


* * *

She felt curiously alive and almost exalted. There were several poor men whose lives she had saved. She had refused to put her signature blithely on those death warrants. She had declared that before she did she wanted to know the nature of the crimes of which they were accused.

When Walpole came to her and wanted to talk about the Land Tax she insisted on discussing the state of the prisons.

‘I want an enquiry set up,’ she said. ‘I want to know what goes on there. I want to discover if there is anything we can do to make the lot of these poor people more bearable.’

‘They are criminals, Madam,’ Walpole reminded her.

‘Yes, but why? That is what I want to know. I want to discover more about these people. Why do they go to prison in the first place? And I’ll begin by knowing what happens to them when they get there.’

She was horrified with what the enquiry disclosed. Poor prisoners were treated with the utmost cruelty whereas on those occasions when a rich man found himself in jail he could live in comfort by bribing his jailors and even escapes were connived at if the rewards were high enough.

She discovered that there were no beds for the sick prisoners, that there was often no food, that many of them died from cold and starvation, and she was deeply distressed and sought a means of reforming the system.

Walpole was impatient. Charitable works were all very well, but there were a great many more important matters on hand. He believed that the best way to reform was through prosperity and even his enemies would have to admit that, through his peaceful policy, he had brought that to England.

He sought to lure the Queen back to more practical matters.

The King was writing long letters to her which arrived almost daily. He was a better writer than speaker and he went into the most minute details of whatever he did. This included his love affairs which, the Queen noticed, with some alarm, were becoming more and more frequent. He would describe the charms of his mistresses down to the most intimate detail; and if he was unable to arouse the passions of any of them he would ask the Queen to give the matter her consideration. As a woman she should understand her own sex.

She would read them through with irritation and exasperation, and a little fear. Was he becoming more in- terested in other women than he had been before?

He had previously felt that he should have a mistress and it used to be said by some of the wits of the Court that he was a man who found pleasure with his wife and took his mistresses for the sake of duty. Would they say that of him now?

When he was with her he was an uxorious husband, one might say. He did not seem to tire of her physically; and even when he snubbed her so humiliatingly in public it was the snub of a husband who is interested in his wife; there had never been any question of his being indifferent to her.

Sometimes the thought of her internal disorder would catch her unaware and send the panic running through her. Was he aware of it? Would it turn him away from her? Would it send him more and more in search of other women?

No, she was a habit with him. More than that he was a sentimental man and she was enshrined in his heart. His wife, the woman he had chosen; the woman he declared he loved beyond all others. Hadn’t she fought all these years to retain that hold on him? Hadn’t she suppressed her superior knowledge, at least keeping it hidden from him; hadn’t she upheld him always in private as well as in public; had she not always outwardly bowed to his will; and it was only when she had brought him round to her opinion that she admitted that opinion was hers. Yes, she was a habit. But so had Henrietta Howard been; and he only visited her now to grumble at her and to show that he was heartily sick of her and that if she had not become involved with a certain time of his day he would have discarded her. In fact, in spite of time he would have discarded her if his wife would let her go.